


Stepney

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: AU but only slightly, F/F, First Kiss, House Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8774746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: A party. A pretty girl. A bottle of Shiraz.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, my first day with this writing challenge has been quite the success! Woohoo! Fingers crossed this is okay, this is the first time I’ve written Holby fic.

The party had been Margie’s idea. She would have preferred to spend the evening at home, catching up on research or even renting a film from the shop round the corner. But Margie was like a pit bull, and refused all of Serena’s excuses. So she was stuffed into one of Margie’s old dresses, feet wedged in a pair of too-high heels, and paraded out of their small flat. Serena had just enough time to grab a bottle of Shiraz before she was forced out the door.

The party was at Stepney, the home of a mutual acquaintance. Yet Serena knew few people milling about; only recognised two simply from their faces around the hospital. Upon entering the party, the bottle of Shiraz was lifted out of her hands, destined for the kitchen. Serena made an attempt to follow, but was corralled into a conversation with Margie and some banker from Stratford. Serena was passed around from conversation to conversation, suffering through an endless cycle of mediocre chatter. After listening to the agonising drone of a rather arrogant neurosurgeon, Serena made her escape and headed after her bottle.

The small kitchen reminded Serena of the parties back in school; held in someone’s house whilst their parents were away. Bags of Tesco Value crisps and pretzels lay in mismatched bowls. White paper cups that crinkled with the slightest pressure littered the linoleum floor. Serena searched the collection of bottles on the table, bypassing cheap vodka and plastic bottles of cider in favour of her Shiraz. _Which wasn’t there._

“Drat.”

“Problem?” One of the other party goers, helping himself to a handful of crisps, stared at her. “Nothing you like?”

“Not really. I brought a bottle of Shiraz but it’s gone.” Reasonable label; would have made a nice evening sitting in front of the television at home. Serena could just about stomach the paper cups, the _dull_ conversation, but now she couldn’t even find her bottle. “Do you know who might have taken it?”

He nodded, gesturing to the kitchen door that led off into the garden. “Blonde swept through here about ten minutes ago, grabbed a wine bottle. Might be her.”

Offering the man a brief smile in gratitude, Serena immediately pivoted to the kitchen door. It was her hope she could persuade the blonde to relinquish the bottle, or at least _share_. She tugged open the kitchen door, shivering in the thin material of her dress as she was faced with the blistering cold of the winter evening. She spotted the blonde almost instantly, leaning against the railing separating grass from patio. A lit fag dangled from her lips, and her hand clamped the neck of the Shiraz bottle. She turned sharply upon hearing Serena, visibly relaxing when she saw it was her.

“Sorry, thought you were my boyfriend.”

Serena frowned as she crossed the patio to join her. “Not a happy relationship, I take it?”

A shrug. “He’s alright, I guess. But I’m pretty sure he wants to ask me something tonight.” The blonde drew the cigarette up to her mouth, took a long drag. “Not sure if I have an answer for him.”

“Hence outside, drinking alone.”

She smirked. “I suppose. You come to escape the party as well?”

Serena faltered, her eyes glancing more than once to the bottle safely gripped by the blonde. She quickly realised that, if she took the bottle and went inside for a glass, she would be made to discuss funding opportunities, research prospects, universities and their differences in reputation. She realised she would much rather be outside in the quiet, albeit the cold.

So she nodded. “Truth be told, I know very few people here.”

“Same. My boyfriend dragged me here; these are all his friends.” She stubbed out her fag on the wooden railing, the ash crumbling into the dark of the garden. She lifted Serena’s bottle of Shiraz to her lips and took a healthy swig, throat bobbing as she drank. She caught Serena’s look of surprise as she necked the bottle and quickly offered it to her. “Only half decent bottle in the place.”

Serena stared at the proffered bottle. She was hardly a teenager, knocking back cider and mixed vodka in the nearest park. Yet returning for a glass meant the chance of being dragged into another tedious conversation. So she gripped the bottle by the neck and raised it to her lips. The rim of the bottle was warm, and Serena could taste tobacco and something else along with the Shiraz. She coughed as it went down, laughing at the predicament she found herself in. _Necking bottles of wine with a blonde she didn’t know, at a party where they_ both _barely knew another soul._

She’d had worse evenings.

Her companion for the evening took the bottle back, quickly raising it to her mouth for another gulp. “So, is this the part where we compare notes? Profession, university, marital status?”

“Bank account details, opinions on local political matters, wine preference?” Serena teased, having heard all three of those conversations already that night. “Well at least I know you have good taste in wine.”

She bobbed her head, grinning. “Goes really nicely with a fag.”

She offered her a cigarette, then, which Serena quickly declined. She did, however, reach over for the bottle and took another drink. The tobacco taste had faded. “So…” Serena started, their conversation already having wilted. “What do you do for a living? Where did you read at university?”

Serena’s smirk caused a chain reaction in the other woman, leading them both to descend into giggles. Soft blonde curls bounced on her shoulders as her companion reached for the bottle once more. Their fingers brushed in the process; Serena swallowing her laughter and the growing warmth in her stomach.

“ _Well,_ like most people here, I’m just finishing my medical training. Few more months and that’s it. _Doctor._ Well, surgeon. _”_

Serena smiled. “ _Wonderful._ I’m actually in the same line of work. Surgeon, I mean. Can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting another doctor. If I have to hear one more conversation about the underfunding of the NHS…”

A snort. “I know. It’s like that movie, the one with the gopher...” Serena’s eyes narrowed. “No, the…the groundhog.” Ah, _Groundhog Day._ “Same conversation over, and over, and _over._ I’m tired of it. Not that I might be working within the NHS anyway.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, staring at her fellow doctor. “Private practice? Or a move abroad? Ambitious, but I hear the money is good.”

“It’s not about the money. I just need…” She leant forward on the railings, her gaze fixed on a certain point in the darkness. Serena was starting to wonder whether it wasn’t just her boyfriend she had come out here to escape from. “I’ve been headhunted. By the RAMC. I’m thinking of taking it.”

Serena’s mouth opened, unsure how to respond. She had always imagined working in a hospital, working on the front lines of medicine. Not a cushy desk job by any means, something that stretched her. But working as an army medic was so far out of her wheelhouse that this entire conversation felt alien to her. “And what does your boyfriend think about that?”

“Haven’t told him.” The Shiraz bottle, by now half empty, reached her lips. “I know what he wants. A house, somewhere nice like Stevenage. Kids, maybe a dog.”

“And you don’t.”

She turned to Serena, her eyes boring into hers. “I’m not sure what I want.”

Their conversation faltered after her revelation, and the bottle of Shiraz was passed silently between them. Serena had little advice to offer this woman, other than to do what made her happy. She was about to put in her two cents when the kitchen door opened. As expected, her companion stiffened, only to relax when she realised it was just a couple making their way into the garden.

“Not him.”

She swallowed. “No.”

Despite their quite obvious presence on the patio, both women seemed to be invisible to the couple. They were all over each other, all lips and wandering hands, destined for the bottom of the garden for a quick shag in the bushes. It was hard not to watch the quite awkward show as the two quite drunk partygoers made their way down the stone steps. Both women had to conceal a laugh when the boy, in a desperate attempt to get his trousers off, fell on his arse.

Serena shook her head. “ _Dear Lord._ Personally, it’s a little too cold for me.”

“I don’t know. The cold has its perks.”

Serena followed the other woman’s gaze, caught her watching not the boy but the young woman he was with. Pretty girl, brown hair in a plait over one shoulder. Her shirt was thin, thinner than Serena’s dress, and her nipples were obvious in their protrusion. Serena watched her eyes darken as her gaze fixed upon the girl. Serena watched her wet her lips, swallowing only when she realised she was being watched. She ducked her head, then, tearing her gaze away to stare out into the abyss of the back garden.

“Are you done with the bottle?”

Serena passed her the Shiraz wordlessly. She necked a good chunk of the bottle, only putting it down when she began to cough. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.”

There was little left of the bottle now, and Serena thought that it would be best if, once it was gone; she left her new friend to her own devices. Clearly she had a number of things to work through, and she could probably use the peace of the patio to do so. Still, she was grateful that she hadn’t been sent away. Despite the awkward turn the evening had taken, this was by far the best party that Margie had ever dragged her to.

But before she could make any attempts at a polite farewell, the kitchen door banged open more. A leg came out, and then a voice. “ _I’ll be right there, Tom, just going to see if she’s out here._ ”

Serena was suddenly dragged out of the thin patio light and into a corner by the bins. She felt her breath _whoosh_ out of her lungs as she was pushed against the brickwork by her drinking companion. It was quite obvious they were now hiding from her boyfriend. That did not, however, explain why their bodies were so close; close enough to share the same breath. Nor did it explain the pulsing heat of a pair of otherwise cold hands through the thin fabric of her dress.

_“I can’t find her.”_

Once again, she relaxed. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes drew closed. Serena watched a slight smile form on her mouth. Her dark eyes quickly snapped open, and Serena expected another mumbled apology about practically throwing her against a brick wall to keep them out of sight. Instead, she said nothing. Serena felt her hand shift against her shoulder; felt her thumb rub against the material of her dress. Dark eyes, intense and unyielding, stared at her just like they had the girl from the patio.

Lips, chapped from the cold and stained with Shiraz, crashed down upon hers. Serena froze, unable to register the kiss. She felt fingers against her jaw, lifting her mouth closer. _A sigh._ Suddenly it was all over. She blinked once, twice, an apology already on her lips. Serena didn’t need to hear her apology. So she quickly covered her mouth with her own.

Serena didn’t know if it was the half bottle of Shiraz she had drunk, the blistering December cold, or the sudden warmth she felt for the woman in front of her that had encouraged a second kiss. The tentative fingers at her jaw now slid to the nape of her neck, holding her in place. Serena’s hands were also complicit, quickly finding the sides of her jacket and sliding inside to touch and grasp her hips. The quiet of the patio was replaced by the sound of their lips meeting, the soft grind of brickwork as Serena was pressed further into the wall. A moan lingered between them, although she could not tell from whom. She rather found she did not care. She just wanted to feel more, touch more, _taste more._

But that was not to be. The kitchen door was slammed open once again, and the patio was flooded with light. Serena felt her body sag, the pressure of another person immediately removed. _She_ had retreated to the railings where she was quickly met by her boyfriend. Just out of his eye line, Serena watched them talk in hushed tones. He rested a hand on her arm; she shrugged it off. Yet they walked back into the party together.

Stepping out into the now bright light of the patio, she found Margie sneaking a quick cigarette. “You having a good time?”

Her lips thinned. “Certainly eventful.”

Serena took the bottle of Shiraz from the patio and drained the bottle with more than a cheeky grin from Margie. She glanced back towards the kitchen, hoping to get one final glimpse of her. But she was gone. _Probably for the best._ Still, she was glad she’d been forced to attend. Her university experience had mostly been drab; spent studying textbooks and doffing cheap wine with her friends in even cheaper pubs. A kiss with a beautiful woman in a secluded corner of a party would make an _excellent_ story, if she ever had the stones to tell another soul.

As she and Margie returned to the warm, Serena cast one last thought to the mysterious blonde. Maybe they’d run into each other again, at another party. Perhaps they’d turn up in the same hospital someday a year from now, ten years from now. Serena hoped they would. She would like to know what became of her, the potential army medic with the chapped lips. She wanted to know how that story ended.

 _Happily_ , she hoped. _Happily._   


End file.
